We complain when the mercury goes below 50 or above 80. So the idea of being massaged with both ice-cold and scalding-hot stones made us a bit wary. After coating our skin with a silky lotion, our masseur ran the 130-degree stones over our limbs, eventually nestling a few under our hands, feet, and rib cage. While the warmth of those rocks radiated outward, he pressed some icy ones into other areas. The contrasting sensations left us energized and our muscles loose. It turns out that we can take the heat—and the cold.

No one goes to Saulnier for a garden-variety massage. Known widely around town as "the fat whisperer," she has a reputation among the Hollywood elite for shooing away stress—and sag. But we were still taken by surprise when she handed us a paper thong and ordered us to strip. She then slathered on a cinnamon-and-cayenne-pepper mud mask and wound Ace bandages around our thighs before zipping us into a compression sack. The heated cocoon held us in a long, tight hug and kneaded every muscle. When we emerged, she vigorously rubbed our lower half, paying close attention to our tight calves and hamstrings. By the end, our legs were two sizes smaller—and haven't filled out an inch in days.

We told Wescott we enjoy the benefits of deep-tissue but can't endure intense prodding. She began untangling our knots in the most humane way possible, seeking out sore areas and rubbing them to gauge how much pressure we could take. The best part? When she handed us the bill, we didn't even flinch.

Many a tense jet-setter has called Parks from the air to schedule a deep-tissue massage for right after landing at LAX. Parks spent her first seven years working on patients in a physical-therapy clinic, so she's no stranger to bad backs. "I give a meat-and-potatoes massage," she says humbly of her home visits—and it's one that many athletes and showbiz people are hungry for.

Our shoulders instinctively tensed when Wongthongdee handed us a T-shirt and karate pants—in our mind, a massage shouldn't involve workout gear or any effort more strenuous than flipping from stomach to back. But a soothing hand-and-foot bath calmed our nerves and prepared us for what came next: an hour of intense twisting and bending. Next came some serious pampering with a blissful head-and-neck rub, which shooed away stress and put us in a limpid stupor, without our breaking a sweat.

When a Hollywood insider told us about an affordable in-home Thai massage, we got out our pen. Perhaps we should have asked more questions, because the smooth stroking we'd expected was actually an hour of stretching and pulling, trying to breath through the pain of having our calves pummeled with someone's heels. It's not that Nipakakoin isn't good at her job—it's just that this authentic style of Thai massage can be vigorous and is definitely not for the faint of heart. Next time, we'll speak up and ask her to handle us with care.

It's hard enough to find one massage therapist who really listens to us, let alone two who pass muster. And yet, during this two-on-one session, both therapists managed to give us exactly what we desired. At times it was nearly impossible to discern one set of hands from the other, so perfectly synchronized were they in speed and pressure. And at every moment, at least one set of hands was massaging our head or feet. One caveat: Double the pleasure comes with a doubly steep price tag.

A stress-inducing week at the office had our shoulders creeping up to our ears. So we slouched over to Cross, who uses a combination of Swedish and deep-tissue to neutralize tension. She drizzled aromatherapy oil along our back and burrowed her hands into our knots, kneading and stroking us from head to toe before stretching and rotating our limbs. We left an hour later with straight posture and a sense of calm that lasted well into the workweek.

Strong enough for a man (Michael Douglas) but gentle enough for a woman (Lili Taylor), Rawson uses what she calls "good old-fashioned elbow grease." We call it scented Carita lotion and a buffet of massage styles. Starting with craniosacral therapy at the base of the skull, she used Swedish strokes on our arms, sports massage on our legs, and reflexology on our feet. When she finished with our right side, it felt inches longer than our left, which was still crabbed and tense. "The muscle tissue speaks to me," she says. "And I speak to it." New Agey, but ours got the message.

When a trusted friend gave us the number of her "intuitive masseuse" who makes house calls, we dialed faster than we could say "Shiatsu." A long run had aggravated our sciatic nerve, and we wanted to test Snyder's claim that she can sense a client's sore spots as early as the night before a session. To our surprise, she zeroed in on our lower back—without a word from us. "When you get the Chi flowing in the trigger area, you'll experience relief in related areas," she explained as she stimulated a pressure point in our hip to release tension from our neck and shoulders. Interesting philosophy, but it was Snyder's firm hands and Swedish, Shiatsu, and reflexology techniques that convinced us. When the hour was up, we could almost feel the Chi flowing.

While the mini-mall location doesn't make for the most glamorous spa experience, that hasn't stopped actresses Julia Roberts and Penélope Cruz from seeking Hahm's healing touch. "People come before big auditions to improve their energy," he says. Blind since the age of 12, Hahm has practiced the art of Shiatsu for 26 years. Though we consider ourselves jaded veterans of massage, his combination of Shiatsu and reflexology relieved our overwrought muscles and relaxed our stressed psyche. We left with renewed energy—and a second massage appointment.

We'd passed by this nondescript spa countless times—until we heard that Powles's talents should not be overlooked. We slid onto her heated massage bed and explained that we like our rubdowns gentle enough to lull us to sleep. She gave us a pitch-perfect Swedish massage, caressing and babying our weary muscles. By the time she began using light, tingling strokes on our head and feet, we were already on cloud nine.

So we expected a little L.A. attitude to accompany our massage. Our soft-spoken masseuse, McLea, welcomed us warmly and asked about problem areas, particularly those that crop up when we're stressed. She combined deep-tissue work and stretching that left us nothing short of enraptured. In a Zenlike haze, we stumbled happily to the dressing room to rinse off the herb-scented oils. And the only attitude we noticed was ours: tremendously improved.

If we're on the massage table for too long, we get antsy; too little, and we feel cheated. But our massage therapist offered a perfect balance with his magical 25-minute rubdown. When we bemoaned our stiff neck, he replied, "I'll take care of that"—and boy, did he ever. He dug into our tight shoulders and coaxed tension from the base of our skull. He then moved south, dislodging every kink in our back and limbs before applying acupressure to our feet. Clearly, time doesn't heal all—a 25-minute massage does.

To our delight, the point of the So Relaxing massage at Le Spa wasn't to align our chakras or mess with our dosha—just to help us unwind. Our therapist coated her palms with an unscented lotion and proceeded to give us the longest, deepest rubdown we've ever had without wincing. She moved her hands from head and shoulders to quads and feet almost seamlessly, knowing exactly where to exert pressure and where to hold off. We'll take loose and limber muscles over bells and whistles any day.

We'll go to any length for a great massage, but in this case, all it took was a mere walk to our front door. Sommerville showed up at our house with table and coconut oil in tow. Her fluid strokes never faltered, despite our dog barking in the background. Our living room may not offer the same respite as a peaceful spa, but our treatment certainly went the distance—even if we didn't.

We scheduled a last-minute appointment at this no-frills massage chain and considered ourselves lucky to get Barboza—not everyone we've seen here has been so good. His deep pressure was pitch-perfect, and he tacked on ten extra minutes to our appointment (free of charge) to work out our kinks. Our strained back felt better for a week, and the easy stretch he recommended has made our neck feel looser ever since.

We were sorely in need of fine-tuning, so we headed over to the Massage Garage for a thorough rubdown. Our masseuse kneaded. She probed. She stretched. At one point, she even climbed onto the table to apply more pressure to our most obstinate knots. But in terms of luxury, our service was more like a Buick than a Benz. We could hear hallway racket all through our session and weren't shown any place to freshen up our oil-slicked face by the end of it. Our muscles were in prime condition— but we left feeling asgreasy as an old carburetor.

With our wedding just one week away, Bouimer had his work cut our for him. He began by releasing the massive tension in our neck and shoulders with a series of fuild strokes that varied in speed and pressure, then homed in on our legs, arms, and jaw. His kneading was effective but not so painful that we'd be limping down the aisle. And by the time he was done, we were in pre-wedded bliss.

Karate pants are for karate class, not a relaxing rubdown. That's what we told friends who urged us to try the authentic Thai massage at this hidden Echo Park spot. But we couldn't dismiss the chronic stiffness in our lower back, either. So we booked a session, braced for a workout, and boy, did we get one. Our therapist gripped an overhead ribbon and stepped purposefully across our back, digging her nimble feet right into our tightest knots. She then guided us through a series of yoga stretches that tested our flexibility and balance. By the end, we felt invigorated, exhausted, and loose as jelly. And our back pain? Kicked to the curb.

Nikom, a former Buddhist monk, is so gentle and soft-spoken, we doubted his Thai massage would be forceful enough to combat our tension. But he quickly restored our faith by guiding us through a series of stretching exercises that tested our flexibility— and our balance. At one point, he even lay flat on the ground and used his feet to lift us above him. The acrobatics were tricky, but Nikom's soothing voice, plus a warm breeze, put us in a state of nirvana. $70 for 60 minutes

We like the benefits of deep-tissue work but prefer massages that don't make us cringe. Goodfellow said she knew just what to do, then proved it by running her forearms along our back in rhythmic strokes. As she pressed her knuckles into our rigid shoulder knots, we braced ourselves for the worst, but didn't flinch. Soon enough, our chronically sore upper back was pain-free, a blissful feeling that lasted a full week.

A hot-stone massage sounded like a cozy treat—and just the thing to melt away our stress. Malul slid stones from our shoulders down to our hips and burrowed his hands into our neck and shoulders for five-minute intervals. The stones certainly helped dissolve our aches, but the way Malul's hands manipulated our muscles was truly transcendent.

This swanky club's Thai Yoga Massage is a hell of a workout. Garza began by stretching our limbs into poses like the modified bow ("grasp my wrists," she ordered). Her nimble hands provided traction even through our clothes as she kneaded our quadriceps, flexed our hamstrings, and "cleaned our scapula" by seeking out the knots in our shoulders and then acupressuring them away. We felt so limber, we didn't need to crash a yoga class—just the whirlpool.

Unless you live in a five-star hotel, at-home massages don't offer much in the way of luxury. Or so we thought. Davis wheeled a cart into our living room stocked with plush linens, lavender oil, a gloriously toasty massage table, and, improbably, hot towels. After a thorough consultation, she asked us to lie flat and got to work eliminating every last drop of stress, running the base of her palms along our back. Her rhythmic kneading left us so delirious, we didn't even realize she had prolonged our session by an extra 30 minutes—for free. That's our idea of an upgrade.

Inexpensive spa services are like blind dates: It's best to keep expectations low. But in this case, we need not have been so skeptical. The treatment room had a cozy heated bed that smelled of freshly laundered sheets, and our masseuse told us we could choose any type of massage for the same price. We picked the classic Swedish, and, starting with our neck and shoulders, she smoothly worked her way down, using perfect pressure. At $52, this was one cheap date.

Just because we're in our third trimester doesn't mean we want to be treated as gingerly as an infant—especially when we have the mother of all knots assaulting our lower back. Clark gave us a giant pillow to cradle while she slicked her hands with almond oil. She stroked us form head to toe, pressing and leaning forward with just the right amount of force. Less than an hour later, the swelling had drained from our feet, and we couldn't wait to go home and slip into our favorite pair of grown-up heels.